


The Plus One

by redisriding



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOSF SPOILERS, Angst, Multi, Pining, Romance, Smut, Spoilers for Book 4: A Court of Silver Flames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redisriding/pseuds/redisriding
Summary: Weddings are a glorious thing. Two people, madly in love, standing up in front of their friends and family and declaring that love for all to see.As the guest, one of the happy couple’s close friends or family, you’re there to celebrate that love with them. You get to feel their happiness wash over you like a wave. A special warmth glows brightly from your chest, and shines out through your smile as you look upon them. At least that’s supposed to be.It’s hard to be happy for your friends when the look of love in their eyes doesn’t make you happy but sad, not proud but jealous. How are you expected to celebrate with them, when watching them profess their love, reminds you that you are alone. That you have no one to love, and no one to love you.Over the course of six weddings this summer, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Feyre, Nesta, and Elain, meet people that are going to change their lives forever.And maybe, just maybe, they might find their own happily ever after…or at least a plus one!(Modern AU)
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel, Elain Archeron/Azriel/Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Graysen, Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Tomas Mandray
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64





	1. The Invites

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Hello, for those of you who pay attention to my writing, your eyes are not deceiving you, yes I am reposting this fic. I had posted the first three chapters, but the story wasn’t really working for me, so I took it off AO3 and sat on it for a little while. I realised then, that what it needed was more perspectives (so I have added Feyre, Nesta and Elain’s povs) and amped up the angst. 
> 
> I think after the success of the Right Swipe, I felt that I needed to continue to write something fluffy and heartwarming, but let me tell you, this is NOT that. This fic is full of angst and sadness because (1) that’s what I feel like writing at the moment, and (2) I think that’s what this story needs.
> 
> I’m not promising you any happy endings, but I hope you enjoy the read nonetheless x 
> 
> \-------
> 
> NB. I can’t promise what my posting schedule will be like with this, so thank you for reading and sticking with it if you kindly do, your kudos and comments mean the world to me.

Cassian heaved a heavy sigh as he stared down at the envelope in his hands. He knew exactly what it was. Had known as soon as he had seen it sitting on the carpet as he opened his front door, having arrived while he was out running.

This was the sixth one he had received this year.

With a shake of his head, he flipped the envelope over and tore it open. It was the usual thing, fancy frilly paper, ‘we cordially invite you,’ blah, blah, blah. And as with all of the invites, it came in two parts, the invitation bit, telling him which of his friends was getting married and on what date, and the RSVP that he had to send back to them.

He shook his head again, why couldn’t they just email him the invite? That way he wouldn’t have to make a trip to the post office to mail the thing back to them. Not that that was a huge inconvenience for him. There was a post office beside the gym he worked at. He had to go there most days anyway.

If Cassian was truthful, what he really didn’t like about RSVP’ing was the stupid little question he had to face down each time.

' _Will you be bringing a plus one_?'

He hated it.

Hated it because the answer was always no.

 _Gods wasn’t that depressing_.

Padding to the kitchen, Cassian tossed the latest invite onto the counter in front of him. He’d confront that nasty question later. Once he’d eaten something.

Heading for the fridge, he took a long drink from the carton of orange juice in the door. He was gross and sweaty having run 20km. It was something he did every morning. Up with the sun to get a run in before work. What did he have to stay in bed for anyway?

Pushing his hair off his face, Cassian grabbed some eggs and headed for the stove, but even as he set about making breakfast, the same thing he made every morning, he couldn’t keep his mind from that invite sitting on the countertop behind him. A looming presence.

It had been a long time since he had someone he could have brought as a plus one to a wedding. If he had ever had anyone at all. He’d certainly never had a lady who’s name would have made it onto the invitation as well, "to Cassian and his lady friend.” How nice that would be. To never have to answer that cruel question again. To have someone by his side at all times. Someone who’s hand he could hold during the ceremony, hoping secretly that one day it would be them up there exchanging vows. Someone who he could introduce to his family, and show off to his friends. Someone with whom he could drink champagne, and steal canapés from the waiters trays while they watched the happy couple have their pictures taken. Someone to sit beside at dinner, at any other table than the one designated for singles. Someone with whom he could swap starters with, just because he didn’t know what to order and wanted to try it all. Someone who would pull him onto the dance floor when the band started playing, and who he could hold close when it was a slow song. Someone who, at the end of the night he could carry upstairs and have hotel sex in whatever dingy room they were staying in, and then wake up wrapped around them in the morning.

Someone, who’s smile made the ache in Cassian’s chest, hurt that little bit less.

But he had no one.

He was a single one, in desperate want of a plus.

—————

“Come in,” Rhys called in response to the knock on his office door.

Nuala poked her head in, “Morning Sir, I have your mail.”

“Oh great thanks, just leave it there,” he said gesturing to the other end of his desk.

Nuala hurried in, but hesitated as she went to put the pile of envelopes down.

“What’s wrong?” He asked her, tearing his eyes from his computer screen to look at his assistant.

“Nothing, but I couldn’t help but notice that there is a personal letter amongst this pile this morning.”

Rhys sighed, rubbing his head. Nothing good ever came from personal letters that reached him at work. Very few people knew his home address, and of those, all of them had his phone number to reach him some other way than letter. His work address however, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it, nothing was a match for that google algorithm. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Open it, will you?”

Nuala pulled the white envelope from the pile of brown. The handwriting on the front was, thankfully, unrecognisable. Although that didn’t always mean he was safe.

Nuala tore the envelope open and pulled out the contents, her eyes darting over the words before she released a breath. “It’s just a wedding invitation.”

 _Thank the Gods_.

—————

“This came for you.”

“What is it?” Azriel asked with a frown, as Mor breezed into the living room.

“You’ll have to open it to find out,” she said, tossing the envelope onto the coffee table in front of Azriel, who was busy lacing up his boots before heading to work.

He eyed the envelope suspiciously. “It’s another wedding invitation, isn’t it?”

“How am I to know?” She said innocently, as if she hadn’t already opened it to read the contents like she always did. Nothing got passed Mor.

With a sigh, Azriel plucked the envelope off the coffee table and flipped it over. Sure enough, the top had already been torn open. Throwing a glare in Mor’s direction as she edged out of the room, he pulled out the contents. Sure enough, it was an invite to yet another wedding, his sixth of the summer.

Gods, it seemed as if all his friends had suddenly reached an age were they had decided that the person they were with was "the one" for them, and so were settling down to get married and have babies. It was a reality that was so far removed from Azriel’s own.

“So, do you want to be my plus one?” He called to Mor, once he had read the details for himself. 

Her response from the kitchen was muffled, “What date is the wedding?”

He told her.

“I’ll have to check my diary.”

 _Of course,_ he thought with a smile. Well, at least she had agreed to go with him to one wedding this summer. He was still doing better than his brothers.

—————

The postman’s boots crunching on the gravel drive tore Elain’s attention away from the flowerbed she was tending too. “Good morning!” She said, popping up from amongst the flowers.

The postman startled at her sudden appearance.

“Post?” She asked with an apologetic smile.

“Ugh, yeah,” he said, thrusting a thick white envelope at her.

“Oh, it’s a wedding invitation, how wonderful!” She cooed, as she scrambled from the flowerbed to take the envelope from the man.

He handed it to her with a shrug, seemingly unimpressed by her enthusiasm, before turning and crunching his way back down her drive way.

Elain tore open the envelope to find her premonition to have been true, it was an invitation to her friends wedding. Her sixth one of the year.

Now she just ha to decide who she was going to bring with her.

—————

Feyre stepped out of her house into the cold spring morning, and lit a cigarette. As she took a deep inhale, her first hit of tobacco of the day, she watched as the postman, at the end of her driveway, placed letters into her mailbox and moved the little red flag into the upright position.

She took a few more drags of her cigarette before she found the energy to go and see what he had delivered.

Mail rarely brought anything good. Just more brown envelopes with “urgent” and “final warning” stamped on them. She collected the post from the mailbox each day, only to give the neighbours the impression that she had her life together. They never saw the large pile of unopened brown envelopes that sat on the table beside the front door, going ignored.

It made no different what they said anyway, their water had already been turned off…twice.

Which was why she was so surprised when she saw the thick white envelope amongst the pile of usual brown. Tearing it open, she read the contents and smiled. She was so happy for her friends, that they were getting married. That they wanted to stand up and declare their love for each other before their friends and family. What a beautiful thing to do.

Something she hopped one day she would get to do too.

If Tamlin ever got around to popping the question, but after six years together there was no sign of a ring.

Feyre had thought when she had moved in with him, an older man, straight out of high school, all those years ago, that that's been where things had been heading, but six years later all she had to show for it was this ramshackle house, three jobs, and mounting debt.

And, of course, her boyfriend. 

She loved Tamlin, really, she did. But she had always thought that there would be more to life than this. How naive she had been.

Stubbing out her cigarette, she headed back inside and found Tamlin sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, munching on cereal.

“Another wedding invitation arrived,” she said, by way of greeting.

Tamlin rolled his eyes. “Another one?” He asked, shovelling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

The man ate more than anyone Feyre had ever seen, although that was maybe because she grew up with sisters and not brothers, regardless, she made a mental note to stop by the grocery store on her lunch break to pick up more milk. The man got hangry when he didn't have things to eat. 

“Yeah! Isn’t it exciting, so many people getting married this year.”

Tamlin made a noise that sounded like a snort, as he continued to chew. “How many is that now?” He asked, finally swallowing.

“Six, I think.”

“For fuck sake.”

“What?”

“Do your friends think we’re made of money?” His eyebrows flattened into a frown, “We can’t afford to go to all these weddings.”

“I know money is tight—.”

Another scoff came from Tamlin.

“But it’s a day out with our family and friends, besides the dinner is free.”

“It’s everything else.”

“I know, but I can make the gifts myself so that won’t cost very much. You have a suit you can wear and I can get a dress for cheap.”

“Or wear one you already have.”

A pang went through Feyre, she knew it was silly given Tamlin would be wearing the same suit to every wedding, but she would have loved to go shopping for a new dress. Even something she could pick up second hand and alter herself. It had been years since she had bought anything new. She knew, given she worked three jobs just to make ends meet, that to ask for anything nice for herself was selfish, but she would have loved a treat just for once. “Of course.”

“And we’re not staying in a hotel.”

“I won’t drink and can drive us to and from the venue on the day.”

“The petrol will be expensive.”

“I’ll pick up some more shifts the week of the wedding to cover it.” How she was going to do that, she wasn’t quite sure, but there was no way she was missing any of her friends weddings.

“You’ll have to take time off to go to the weddings.”

“If I’m smart, I can arrange my roaster so the weddings are on my scheduled days off anyway.”

Tamlin took another shovel of cereal and stuffed it into his mouth by way of defeat. More like acquiesce really. Feyre knew she hadn’t won yet, there would be many more arguments about attending these weddings to come as Tamlin clearly didn’t want them to go, but she was adamant that she would do everything in her power to be at her friends’ special days.

—————

Empty bottles, cans, and even a few unconscious bodies - evidence of last night - were strewn everywhere as Nesta padded across the apartment to collect the post that had just been slotted through the door.

As she stepped in something sticky, what she hoped was just a spilled beer, she regretted leaving her bedroom in just her bare feet.

She should have stopped to find her slippers, or even grabbed a pair of shoes, but it was more important that she reached the mail before anyone else did. She swiped the pile of letters off the welcome mat and immediately began leafing through them.

The brown envelopes, she left on the table for Tomas to read later. The envelopes addressed to her, with cheques inside, she quickly crossed the room to stash in her hiding spot in the bookcase.

The thick white envelope, addressed to her however, she was unsure what to do with. After glancing around the room to make sure that everyone was indeed as asleep as they looked, she quietly opened it.

It was a wedding invitation from friends she hadn’t spoken to for years, but who she dearly missed. Now they were getting married!

_Gods, how exciting._

_And how much she had missed._

Nesta wasn’t sure how they had got her address, but the fact that she had thought of her enough to find out so they could send her a wedding invite cracked something in Nesta’s hard chest.

Maybe she wasn’t so alone in this world after all.

But just as memories of laughter and friends began to fill her, her bedroom door cracked open, and the warmth vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Come back to bed,” Tomas ordered, his body filling the doorway, his face harsh.

With dread coiling in her stomach, Nesta did as she was told.


	2. The First Wedding: Pt1

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” a familiar voice purred from behind Nesta as they stood outside the church. 

She turned to find a familiar face looking up at her with a saccharine smile. “Amren.”

“Nesta.”

The two women stared at each other, assessing.

Amren looked the same as ever, her dark hair cut into a short, blunt bob made her face look sharp. Dressed in her usual grey, and adorned with ruby red jewels, dangling from her ears and wrapped around her neck, her swirling grey eyes roved over Nesta’s face.

The look could have been one of judgement, no less than Nesta felt she deserved, but there was some other emotion present too. One, that if Nesta really thought about it, was one of relief.

Nesta felt Thomas bristle beside her as the two women continued to stare at each other, but before he had the chance to say anything, to interrupt, Nesta moved.

In two short steps Nesta was on top of her old friend, wrapping her arms around her. Holding her in a tight hug.

A hug that she hoped conveyed everything that she was unable to put into words.

 _I’ve missed you_.

Amren’s arms came up, almost reluctantly, to pat Nesta on the back. “I’ve missed you too, girlie,” that old voice said against her ear.

Nesta was at such a loss. She knew that her sisters were going to be at the wedding, but other than the bride and groom - who she was never going to get to spend much time with, given how busy they would be - she hadn’t expected to see many of her old friends, friends from the life she had before she left.

She had expected even less the warm greetings of ‘welcome homes’ and ‘we’ve missed you’ that she received from every single one of them as they wrapped her arms around her in a warm embrace.

Amren was no different.

And she had spent so many years believing that they hated her. That she had failed them.

All of these amazing people she had in her life, who cared about her, who had supported her, who had never left her side, even when she had left them.

Gods did it hurt to realise that it was her who had given up on them. Out of shame. Out of embarrassment. Out of fear of ever returning to Velaris ever again.

Yet here she was, finally returned, and all that she had received was love.

If only she had reached out sooner.

Maybe the sadness wouldn’t have taken ahold of her quite so much.

Slowly, she released Amren. Stepping back, she turned to the tall, smiling man beside her. “Hello Varian,” she said, before incasing him in a big hug. He hugged her back, tightly and with genuine affection.

Thomas began protesting beside her, as he had with every male friend she had greeted so far today. It was something she would pay for later, she knew, but in the moment, she ignored him, and leaned in closer to Varian’s hug.

As she pulled back, she looked at her two smiling friends, and felt a great balloon of happiness swell in her chest, and then she remembered. “Oh Gods, how could I forget, congratulations! Both of you. I was so delighted when I got the invitation.”

“Thank you,” Amren said with a slight nod of her head.

“We’re very happy,” Varian agreed, as he reached out to throw a casual arm around Amren’s shoulders.

“So, can I see the ring?” She asked, knowing that her friend would love nothing more to show off her jewels.

Indeed, the smile that had slipped from Amren’s face reappeared as she held up her had. A massive diamond surrounded by a circle of rubies, adorned Amren’s ring finger.

Nesta had never seen anything more ostentatious in her whole life. It suited Amren so perfectly. “Wow, that is incredible,” Nesta gushed, taking her friend’s hand to examine the ring more closely.

Amren glanced up at Varian, “He has excellent taste.”

“I just know you too well,” he replied, batting away the compliment easily.

“Careful,” Tomas interjected, with a suck of his teeth. He folded his hands behind his back and began rocking from his heels to his toes, a power stance, Nesta knew he exhibited when he was trying to assert dominance in a situation. “We don’t want her getting any ideas,” he said, nodding his head at Nesta.

Amren turned her attention to Tomas for the first time, blinking as if she hadn’t realised he had been standing there, as if she had never seen him before.

“And you are?” She asked him, giving him a withering look.

Lessor men would have shrank away from Amren’s glare, but Tomas didn’t even appear to notice. “Tomas Mandray. Her boyfriend,” he said with another jerk of his head in Nesta’s direction. He untucked one arm from behind his back, extending it to Amren to shake.

Amren looked down at his floating hand with distain. Ignoring him, she turned her attention back to Nesta.

Tomas’s face flushed red, and not with embarrassment. He was not a man used to being dismissed. Another thing Nesta knew she would have to pay for later, but in the moment, she could have laughed at the expression on his face. She restrained herself however.

“So, if you’re here, does that mean we can expect you at our wedding?” Amren asked her.

“I RSVP’d, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she glanced at Varian again, “We just weren’t sure.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

—————

The wedding was absolutely beautiful.

Not that Elain had expected anything less from her friends, but it really was perfect.

From the bride’s dress, to the ceremony, to the flowers - there was nothing like than an out of season, half dead Ranunculus, to ruin the big day - and now she was a couple of wines in and eating the most delicious meal.

What a great day it had been.

She only hoped there was lot’s more fun to be had.

Graysen, her chosen date for the evening, was beside her. “See anyone you like?” He asked, following her gaze to the singles tables.

That was another thing that this wedding had delivered on, a table full of exceptionally attractive. Elain couldn’t stop herself from ogling.

She had never had occasion to sit at the singles table, but it always looked like lots of fun. Everyone chatting, the occasional outburst of laughter; she bet there was lot’s of flirting too. Sometimes she wondered why she always found someone to go to weddings with her, maybe it would be fun sometime to sit at the singles table. To flirt madly with whoever was seated beside her, before, if she was feeling particularly bold, slipping off to the bathroom for a quickie before dessert.

Elain dipped her head to hide her smile, clearly the wine was getting to her. Hooking up with a stranger in a bathroom wasn’t really her style, no matter how sexy it was as a fantasy.

She likes a slow burn. One that lasted all night. The shy smiles, the awkward small talk, the offer of a drink being bought, and then another, before they ventured out onto the dance floor. The touching beginning chaste only for it to turn to fire before they decided to head to her room upstairs.

Elain clenched her thighs together at the thought.

She glanced up at Graysen from beneath her lashes. “Maybe,” she whispered coyly.

Graysen just laughed, he knew the score, before he turned back to the man on his other side who had resumed speaking and was demanding his attention.

In truth, Elain had been unable to keep her eyes off a tall, dark skinned man, who sat silently at the singles table. His focus didn’t appear to be on anything in particular as he ate.

The blonde seated next to him had tried on multiple occasions, throughout the dinner, to get his attention. Only to finally give up, and turn her attentions to the similarly attractive, if slightly less broody, man seated on her other side.

Elain had watched the whole thing with a slight smile. Her cheeks flushed and nipples pinched, her core throbbing ever hotter as she wondered what he must look like having sex. His face was serious and his body looked powerful even beneath his suit. She could only imagine he would be intense.

But, it had been his uninterested dismissal of the blonde that had really caught her attention. A handsome man, alone at the singles table, not interested in the absolutely stunning woman beside him.

Sure, maybe he had someone, or wasn’t interested in woman at all, but having watched him throughout the meal, Elain thought otherwise.

And there was nothing more Elain loved more than a shy boy.

—————

The wall grazed Feyre’s back through her thin dress as Tamlin pushed her up against it.

She had forgot what he was like when he had been drinking whiskey. He only ever drank cheap beer when they were at home, and that had the opposite effect on him.

Feyre knew she was in trouble when he had taken her hand underneath the table at dinner, not to hold, as her treacherous heart had begun thundering with hope at the thought of as he grasped it, but to place on his crotch. The long, hard length of him straining under the fabric of his trousers.

He had used her hand to palm at himself, until he had leaned in close, whispering in her ear, his breath smelling like whiskey, “Once this is over, we’re going outside.”

True to his word, as soon as the dinner had been cleared, and people began heading for the bar, he had grasped her wrist and pulled her outside. Finding a quiet corner, around the side of the hotel, he had pushed her up against the wall, and started pressing hot, wet, open mouth kisses to her neck.

His hands roaming all over her body, groping her through her dress.

Feyre was grateful that her body reacted. Her nipples hardening, wetness spreading between her legs.

It would make the whole thing easier.

For both of them.

Tamlin didn’t spend too much time warming her up though. Before long she heard clink of his belt button, the zip of his trousers, and then his hands were on her, pulling her dress up over her thighs.

Then his hand was pulling her underwear to one side, and the head of his cock was pressed up against her entrance.

His breath smelled disgusting. Whiskey mixed with garlic from the dinner. Feyre kept her head to one side, allowing Tamlin access to her neck and shoulder as he thrust up into her. It was a fullness she had not felt for some time. One she had come to beg for, but which he could never give her, as he preferred to spend his nights drinking beers with his buddies as she worked the nightshift.

Feyre supposed she should have been grateful that he was giving it to her now, but being taken outside, up against a wall, she just felt dirty.

Nevertheless, her hands came up to grip Tamlin’s shoulders as he began to pound into her. She was balanced on one leg as he grasped one thigh tightly against his hip, angling he for his pleasure.

Tamlin’s pounding, jackhammered, and then, all too soon, with a grunt and a final thrust, he spilled himself into her.

His breathing was ragged as he dropped his head onto her shoulder, steadying himself.

Feyre’s arms came around him, holding him tightly against her. “I love you,” she whispered.

—————

The main course had just been cleared by the waiters and Cassian found himself sitting at the singles table making small talk with Emerie.

He had been introduced to Emerie some months before, when the bride and groom, had tried to set them up. They were from the same place, and had plenty of common interests, so on paper they should have been a good match.

In reality however, their chemistry was somewhat lacking.

Emerie felt more like the little sister he never had than any sort of romantic prospect for Cassian. He hadn’t even kissed her goodnight at the end of that dreadful date, not even just to be polite.

Thankfully, Emerie appeared to feel much the same way.

The happy couple however, had seated them next to each other at the singles table, and Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if they were still of the mistaken belief that there was some potential between the two of them.

 _How embarrassing_.

Not only was he forced to sit at the singles table, but the happy couple had, even on their special day, wanted him to find someone to couple up with.

 _Gods, love must be some crazy drug if everyone who had it wanted others to find it too_.

Forced conversation with women he didn’t know, nor cared to get to know aside, the next worst thing about being at the singles table, was that everyone else - loved up in their couples, or at least smart enough to drag a friend along as their date - knew they they were losers who didn’t have anyone they could invite as their plus one.

 _Lonely losers_.

Which was why Cassian was surprised when he caught her looking at him. Blatantly staring, in fact.

She was sitting three tables away, close enough to the bride and groom that she was either family or a close friend. There was a guy seated to her right, resting a possessive hand on the back of her chair, and yet it was Cassian who she was staring at.

For one earth shattering, heart racing, stomach fluttering second, they locked eyes.

Cassian’s world froze.

The noise and laughter in the room fading to a soft buzzing, as all he could hear in his ears was his breath, the beat of his own heart. The room, full of people, peeled away until there was no one left but him and her.

Staring at each other.

His hazel eyes locked on hers grey ones. Eyes that even across the room Cassian could tell were so intense they would bring him to his knees.

Her face was so beautiful, with her high cheekbones and soft pink lips. She was like something crafted by the Gods themselves. Otherworldly.

And yet for one brief moment she looked at Cassian.

Seeing right down into his soul.

The moment lasted all but a second, before she blinked once and looked away.

Cassian couldn’t help the creeping feeling in his belly that he had been dismissed.

Cocking his head to one side, he took in her side profile as she spoke to the women seated on the other wise of her.

She looked vaguely familiar. Although Cassian was sure they had never met before. He would have remember if they had. Her features were sharp, yet soft. Her hair was coiled on top of her head like a crown, and the dress she wore was silver.

A queen.

Whoever she was, Cassian decided, tonight, she was going to be his.

Of course that was the benefit of the singles table, as soon as he had sat down, all of the women in the room, paired up or not, had marked him as available.

And there was nothing Cassian loved more than the attention of women.

—————

I _an-the? I-an-th? I-an-the? I-an-th-e?_

Rhysand wasn’t sure how to pronounce the name, having only read it off the place setting card that had been laid out on the singles table. He certainly didn’t want to invite any further conversation by asking the woman herself how to pronounce it.

He’d ask his friends, when they got back from their honeymoon and they would inevitably ask him if he enjoyed the wedding. He would tell them he had, before asking them what possessed them to seat him beside the woman, Ianthe.

When he had first taken his seat at the singles table, she had smiled at him, and yeah Rhys had to admit that at first glance he thought she was attractive, but her attentions had clearly been on Azriel, and that was fine with him.

But at some point during the evening, Ianthe clearly got the message, as all woman did, that Azriel wasn’t really interested, and it was then that she had turned her attentions on him.

Their chat had been fine, the standard things that two people who don’t know each other at weddings tend to make small talk about. ‘ _Beautiful day, wasn’t it?’ ‘How do you know the couple?_ ’

All had been fine, until she had reached out to put her hand on his arm. He had managed to keep the finch to himself, but she hadn’t taken the hint when he had moved his arm out of her grasp. Although, he was willing to admit, placing it, instead, on the back of her chair, may not have given a clear indication of disinterest.

Her hand had then landed on his thigh. Her hand stroking up his leg higher and higher as they listened to the speeches. Not that Rhys heard anything. All he could focus on was the feeling of thousands of tiny spiders running across his skin triggered by Ianthe’s touch.

He balked.

Rhys didn’t like to be touched. Not by strangers, and not sexually.

It was just all too much. It brought back too many memories. Memories of a time that he would much rather forget, of a time when he was at the whims of a woman’s sexual desire. They were memories that he worked hard to forget, every day.

As soon as the dinner and speeches had finished, and people began moving around the room. Rhys had been on his feet.

Azriel had glanced up, and his sudden movement, but as he had already been moving blindly as he mumbled something about needing to use the bathroom, leaving both Ianthe, and her spider touch, in his wake.

That was how he found himself here, now, standing in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Rhys had no idea how long he had been standing there, staring at his own face looking back at him in horror. It felt like minutes, but it could have been hours, or maybe it was the other way around. He frowned, rubbing his head. His mind was racing. Too many thoughts were flooding his brain all at once. He hopped between them in a matter of milliseconds, not focusing on any one for too long for fear of what they might bring up.

Rhys had just turned on the tap to wash his hands, an action he could focus on doing to centre himself and bring him back to to the current moment, when the bathroom door creaked open.

“There you are!”

That voice, the one that he had only come to know that evening, caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prick up.

Rhys looked up from his hands, and into the mirror on the wall in front of him. Sure enough, in a beautiful vision, like something out of a horror film, there, standing behind him, was Ianthe.

Rhys’s heart began pounding. He watched his eyes grow wide in the mirror as fear coiled in his stomach, threatening to bring up his dinner. Adrenaline began coursing through his body.

“This is the men’s bathroom,” Rhys exclaimed, he was sure that he had gone through the door with the little man on it.

“Oh Rhysand,” Ianthe purred, closing the bathroom door behind her, “that doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a bathroom.”

“You can’t be in here,” he said, shutting off the tap and turning to face Ianthe. Something was wrong, the air was charged in a way he didn’t like.

“I came to check on you,” she said, clicking the lock shut on the door.

They were alone.

He was trapped.

 _No_.

“I’m fine,” he said. Only he didn’t sound fine. His voice caught in his throat.

“You don’t look fine,” she said, taking another step into the bathroom, coming closer to him.

 _No_.

Rhysand knew this game, knew what was going to happen.

He promised himself he was never going to go back there.

“I thought I could make you feel better.”

That was when the screaming started in Rhysand’s ears. That was all he could hear, the screaming and the pounding of blood.

Everything before him was blurry, except for Ianthe, although he wasn’t sure if she was Ianthe any more. Her hair that had been blonde was now red. Her young face had morphed in to one more familiar to him. One that he thought he was never going to see again, except for in his haunted dreams.

_No._

_Please no_.

He shook his head, trying to clear the vision from his mind. Blinking, Ianthe came back into focus, but he was powerless, frozen still as she moved ever closer to him. Reaching up, she slowly pulled down her dress, exposing her breasts to him.

Her blonde hair fell across her chest, framing her breasts. Her soft brown nipples growing hard.

Suddenly she was’t across the room any more, she was right in front of him.

Rhys’s back hit the sink as he took a step away from her.

 _No_.

There was nowhere for him to go. He was trapped, frozen except for his trembling, as Ianthe advanced on him. Her exposed breasts now pressing against his chest.

But as she reached down to cup between his legs, something inside Rhysand snapped.

He was no longer that little boy. So trusting of those who’s only intention was to hurt him. Now, he was a big strong man, not only able to protect himself, but able to protect the little boy that he once was.

In an explosion of strength and adrenaline, he grabbed Ianthe and threw her across the room. He knew things were bad when her head made a sickening crack against the urinal on the wall, but he didn’t care. All Rhys cared about was getting out of that room.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see.

He needed to be free.

Tearing across the space, he fumbled with the lock, the adrenaline and pounding heart making his hands shake, but on the third attempt he got it.

Flinging the door open, he took off at a sprint.

—————

“They’re very beautiful,” the woman said as she came up beside him while he was standing at the bar.

Azriel wasn’t sure whether she was referring to his cufflinks or his hands as she gazed down at his wrists. The former shimmered a soft blue under the light, the latter were scarred and most certainly not beautiful.

“Thanks?” He replied with a frown, glancing down at her.

The woman was beautiful. Her face was soft and kind, her eyes brown and doe like. Her long fawn brown hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her dress was the palest pink.

She was utterly soft and feminine, and absolutely everything that Azriel got hard for.

“You’re very beautiful,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Not that he regretted them. They were true.

And the smile that lit up her face was worth his candour. “You’re very kind.” Her eyes were still focused on his hands though, as she glanced up through her lashes at him.

She reached out so slowly, as if she was worried about spooking him. Her hand came to rest beside his on the bar. Her fingertips, gently touching the back of his hands, stroking his scars.

Azriel blinked at her, the frown burrowing deeper across this brow. Surely she didn’t mean that his hands were beautiful?

No, no one ever thought that. He was a freak. Disfigured. Deformed. Mangled.

He knew women who thought his face was handsome had run a mile once they had seen his hands. Too repulsed to ever let him touch them with his scars, for fear they might transfer onto their skin.

But her touch. It was so soft, so reverent, he couldn’t stand it.

“They’re from a fire,” he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets, out of sight.

“Where you badly hurt?” She asked, turning her big brown eyes on him.

Azriel’s chest squeezed as he met her eyes. Wide and honest as they gazed up at him.

 _Gods she was so soft and gentle, what was she doing talking to a freak like him_.

“Just my hands,” his tone was sharp. Unnecessarily so. Especially when he saw her recoil slightly. But maybe that was what she needed, to be scared of a monster like him. She was worth upsetting if it would keep her away from him.

“I’m sorry.” She said, shrinking back slightly.

“Don’t be.”

She shook her head.“No, I am, it was rude of me to ask you such a personal question. I just saw you earlier and I thought you were so handsome that I had to find a way to talk to you. I guess my flirting is a little rusty.”

_Flirting, with him? This beauty? He glanced down at his drink, had someone slipped something into it?_

Azriel scoffed. “Did I not see you earlier with a boyfriend?” For he had noticed her earlier, when they were in the church. She had been with a tall blond man with a sour face.

“Greysen?”

Azriel shrugged, how was he to know the guy’s name.

_Lucky bastard._

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s...” she trailed off, as if unsure what Greysen was to her. “

Your plus one?” He supplied.

“Yes, he’s my plus one.” She smiled again, “Which I noticed you don’t have.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

“Good, because I was hoping that maybe you might like to dance?”

_Gods, she was forward._

This was uncharted territory for him.

“Oh, I eh...I don’t know,” he mumbled, hastily looking around for a way out, maybe he could catch the eye of one of his brothers, but neither of them were around.

“Please,” she whispered, looking up at him from under her long black eyelashes, “It would be an honour to dance with you.”

_Ah jeez, how was a guy supposed to say no to that?_


	3. The First Wedding: Pt2

Cassian had been watching her all night.

As she twirled around the dance floor with that rat faced man.

He had taken great comfort in the fact that, with her head held high, she had never once smiled at him. Never looked at him with any sort of affection.

She certainly had never kissed him.

And when rat-faced’s hands had wandered, she had been quick to correct him.

So Cassian was working on the assumption that they were merely friends…they had to be!

Although, he had to admit that he had only ever witnessed such cool indifference between couples before. Couples who’s relationship had passed its natural expiration date.

Whichever it was, Cassian was confident that he stood a chance.

When his queen had emerged from the bathroom earlier, her eyes had scanned the room, skipping over the faces of those gathered until they had found him. For only a moment they had settled on him, but Cassian had felt the same rush he had when they had been at dinner.

He knew then, it was only a matter of time until she made her move.

And yet, hours later, she was still to do anything. 

Instead, she had spent the last few hours faithfully dancing with her rat-faced date.

So when Cassian finally spotted her standing alone at the bar, he decided he needed to give her a bit of a nudge.

“I’ll have a whiskey, if you’re buying,” he said, sidling up to where she stood at the bar.

Those steel blue eyes, that made Cassian’s heart race and trousers tighten, swung to him. He could have sworn a faint blush crept upon her cheeks.

Her faced remained hard however as she said, “I’m not.”

“Sure you are sweetheart.”

His queen scowled.

He continued. “You’re going to buy us both a drink, then we’re going to grab that quiet table over there,” he pointed across the room, “and drink our drinks while we chat. Then you’re going to ask me to dance with you, but as we reach the dance floor, the band will begin playing another slow song, which means we’ll have to get real close to one another, which will get out hearts pounding and bathing suit parts tingling. Then, not wanting anyone to see, you’ll drag me out into the garden where you’ll kiss me senseless, and after that,” he shrugged, “who knows.”

“Very romantic.” She rolled her eyes, turning back to the bar, dismissing him.

Cassian leaned in a little closer. “I thought so,” he purred in her ear.

Her back straightened. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are—.”

“I’m the guy you’ve been staring at all night.”

She scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are. You’re thinking about it, what it would be like, right?”

“No. I become flushed when I’m angry.”

Cassian grinned. A worthy opponent. “Aren’t you charming?”

“Well, you certainly are not.”

He chuckled. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m not telling you.”

Cassian put his hands up to his chest, stumbling as if he’d been shot. “Why must you be so cruel?”

Again she turned back to the bar, trying to catch the server’s attention.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I will once you tell me your name?”

She looked at him, seething. Cassian wasn’t sure why he kept trying, but no one had been this unreceptive to his advances before. Certainly not someone who had been watching him all night as closely as she had been watching him

He had the distinct impression that this harshness was all a front. A protection. Well he hoped so. Otherwise he was just an asshole.

“Alright,” he said, changing tact, “allow me to introduce myself, my name is Cassian and I went to college with the groom. Now you go?”

His ice queen had given up trying to get the server’s attention. She turned her attentions back to him, her grey eyes almost glowing. “We used to have a dog named Cassian.”

“Hey look, now we’re getting somewhere!” He exclaimed. “I was never allowed to have pets growing up, my mom was allergic. A great shame really. I think a dog would have been good for me, a way to direct my energies. Instead I spent that time chasing women,” he sighed, reminiscing fondly.

It only seemed to agitate her more. “You would think after all that practice then, you would be good at it.”

Cassian laughed, punching her gently on the arm. “Have to hand it to you there, sweetheart, that was a good one.”

His queen looked down at where he had touched her, a brush of his hand was really all it had been, as if he had burned her. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a fire raging inside him after all.

“If I had to guess,” he continued, ignoring the shocked look on her face, “you know the bride. If you were the groom’s friend, I hope he would have set us up a long time ago.”

His queen, recovering from her moments shock, jutted out her chin in defiance, but before he could hear her barbed retort, one that he realised afterwards, he had been excitedly waiting for, they were interrupted.

“Nesta,” the rat-faced man was at her side. His hand sliding to her waist possessively, as he glared up at Cassian. “Let’s go dance.”

Cassian just grinned, looking between both of them.

“Well Nesta,” he winked, “it’s been a pleasure.” With a flourish and bow, he turned and walked away.

He could feel them both glaring daggers into his back.

But it didn’t matter.

For Cassian knew a woman like Nesta would never let him away with the last word.

Next time she would come to him to finish the job.

They always did.

—————

Rhys was sitting in a quiet corner, staring into his whiskey.

The celebrations were playing out around him, but it was all just a low buzz in his ears, so when someone moved beside him, he jumped.

Thankfully, it was only Cassian who settled himself in the seat beside him. “Are you okay?”

Rhys just nodded, his gaze returning to his whiskey.

But Cassian wasn’t convinced. “What happened?”

Rhys shook his head. He was too tired to speak, too weary. The adrenaline had long left his system, and now he was left with nothing but unending emptiness.

Cassian shifted in his chair. Rhys loved him, but his friend was like a dog with a bone and he wasn’t going to let it go until Rhys told him what happened.

“What happened with the blonde who was all over you at dinner?”

Whether Cassian knew something had happened, or was just using it as a way to get him to start talking but Rhys wasn’t sure.

“She touched me Cass,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“I know, I saw.”

Rhys looked at his friend, bewildered. “You did?”

“Yeah, she was stroking your arm while you ate.”

He didn’t see then. Not when she had grabbed him.

Rhys shook his head again.

“Did something else happen?” Cassian asked, his frown deepening.

Rhys could only nod.

“What?”

“She touched me, Cass.”

“Where did she touch you?” Cassian’s voice had risen slightly in alarm.

Rhys gestured to his crotch.

Cassian swore. “Okay buddy, why don’t you tell me what happened and we can figure out how to handle it.”

So Rhys did. He told Cassian about Ianthe following him into the bathroom, about her exposing herself to him before she grabbed hold of him. He told him how in a panic he had shoved her away from him and she had fallen back and banged her head. He told him that he knew he should go to check on her to see if she was okay, but he just couldn’t bring himself to.

When he had finally finished Cassian had gone still. Murderously so.

Cassian wouldn’t care if Rhys had hurt Ianthe, for he would be more than willing to tear her limb from limb for hurting Rhys.

“Can I do anything for you?” Cassian asked as Rhys finished his story and returned to his whiskey.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just leave it Cass. I feel bad enough about things as they are.”

Cassian’s arm appeared in Rhys’s peripheral vision. It snaked across the table, but paused before it touched him, as if afraid what the reaction would be. He looked up to meet Cassian’s hazel eyes full of sorrow. “Rhys, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, for you to fell bad about.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed her.”

“You were defending yourself.”

“I should have checked that she was okay.”

Cassian blew out a breath, “Gods Rhys, you’re a better man than I am.”

Rhys shook his head sadly, “I’m not.”

“You are, I would have killed her. I’ll still kill her on your behalf.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.” Rhys sighed, “Your loyalty has always meant everything to me Cass.”

Cassian nodded. “As if you wouldn’t do the same for me.”

“I would. In a heartbeat.”

“I know.”

They fell into the silence of their own thoughts then, sitting beside each other, sipping whiskey.

The incident in the bathroom had brought up a lot of memories for Rhysand, memories of his mother’s death, of the woman who had taken him in, who had prayed on his vulnerability. She was in prison now, _thank the Gods._ He had naively thought that that meant he was safe now. That the only monsters he had to battle were the ones in his own head. But no, monsters took many forms.

“I’m going to get some air,” he said suddenly jumping to his feet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Cassian asked looking up at him, those hazel eyes now full of concern.

“No, I’m okay.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” With a tight smile to his friend, he turned and headed for the doors leading to the garden.

His shoes clicked loudly on the flagstone paving as he crossed the terrace leading from the ballroom the wedding was being held in. He came to a stop at the railings on the other side, the venue’s manicured gardens rolling below. He rested his forearms on the balustrade and looked up at the sky. It was a perfectly, clear night, thousands of tiny stars danced above him.

Rhys released a long sigh.

“Do you want one?” A voice from behind him asked.

Rhys turned, panicked, only to find a woman standing behind him. Her eyes shimmering with uncertainty as she held a packet of cigarettes out to him.

“You look like you need one,” she said, offering him a slight smile.

Rhys wasn’t sure if it was her kindness, but she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that somehow seemed to shine in the moonlight.

She looked sad though. As if she too had come outside to escape the joviality of the party, even just for a short time.

It was in that moment he decided that he could trust her.

She wasn’t going to hurt him.

“I gave up a long time ago,” he said with a nod to the cigarettes.

“Ah—.”

“But I’d love one.”

She smiled properly then, and Rhys felt something in his chest swell. “It doesn’t count if you only smoke at weddings,” she said, as he pulled one from the outstretched packet.

“No?” He said with a small smile, putting the cigarette in his mouth. His lips moulding around the familiar feel.

“No,” she said, pocketing the packet of cigarettes and pulling a lighter from her jacket pocket.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

She lit her cigarette first, and then leaned in to light his. Rhys bent down slightly to make it easier for her, but as the paper began to solder he made the fatal mistake of glancing at her.

He had been wrong, it wasn’t the moonlight that was making her freckles shine, but the light from her eyes. They were so blue, like the sky on the clearest day.

And as she looked back at him, he felt as those she was holding him in a trance.

She was the one who broke it. Stepping back, she turned to blow out the smoke she had inhaled away from his face.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking a deep inhale of his own.

 _Gods, this felt good. The smoke filling his lungs, the nicotine lighting up the pathways in his brain. How did he ever give this up_.

_  
“What’s your name,” he asked her, after another moment”_

_“Feyre,” she said after another exhale. “Yours?”_

_“Rhys,” He replied. Then, holding out his hand, “Nice you meet you Feyre._

The woman, Feyre, took it. “Nice to meet you too, Rhys.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was Feyre’s touch, the sound of his name falling from her lips, or the cigarette he was smoking, but a shiver went through Rhys.

Bumps prickling on his skin.

The hairs on his arms standing up.

It was electric.

He looked down at their joint hands. Slowly letting go of hers as the moment passed.

He wasn’t sure what to say.

So they just stood under the night’s sky smoking, listening to the band play and watching through the window as the guests danced.

Finally Rhys spoke again. “Can I have the next dance?” He asked her on a whim as he stubbed out the butt of his cigarette.

Feyre looked sad as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t think my boyfriend would be too impressed with that.”

—————

“Ouch!”

“Shit, sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“That’s my foot.”

“Sorry!”

“Where is the light?”

“I think it’s over here.”

“Nope.”

“What kind of hotel room doesn’t have any windows?”

“This one.”

Elain erupted into a fit of tinkling laughter that made Azriel’s chest swell.

They had danced for hours; all night in fact. Twirling around the dance floor, during the slow songs, and grinding wildly against each other when the band finished and the DJ started playing hits from their teenage years.

Then, as the night slowly came to an end, Azriel had decided to be brave. With Elain in his arms, her soft body pressed up against his hard one, he had bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

And to his great, soaring, pleasure, she had kissed him back. Equally soft for only a moment, before she grabbed his collar and pulled him onto her. Her tongue pressing itself into his mouth, igniting a blazing heat within.

When she had finally broken the kiss, leaving him gasping, she had pressed her body against his tightly once again, only this time, she found the hard length of him pressing back against her.

It was then that she had, with a slight blush colouring her cheeks, invited him back to her room.

Their mouths had been against each other once again, hot and demanding, as they left the dance floor, crossed the room the wedding had been in, and made their way into the lobby.

Alone in the elevator, Elain had began tearing at Azriel’s clothes. Removing his jacket, tie, and unbutton most of his shirt by the time the lift had made it to the sixth floor, where she was staying.

Azriel had felt himself blush as he emerged dishevelled to follow Elain down the hallway to her room. He didn’t think that he had ever been so physically desired by someone before. Certainly not someone he himself found so attractive.

But the way Elain looked at him, with such reverence, and yet such heat in her eyes, for once it allowed him to left go of all of this thoughts, all of his fears, all of that overthinking he always did that he somehow wasn’t good enough.

No, tonight, he could forget all that, he could let himself go, and really enjoy being in the company of a beautiful woman.

That was until, they got to her room and were plunged into darkness.

He heard Elain shuffling around, trying to find the light switch.

Feeling around him, he made his way to the bed, and sat at what he assumed was its foot.

In the short moment she had been away from him, he already missed the feel of Elain’s body against him, her hands on his chest, her mouth on his.

It was so unlike him to hook up with a woman he didn’t know like this, but he knew he could trust her.

Besides, at this point, she had worked him up into such a quivering mess, that he didn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to.

His hand wasn’t going to be enough to ease the rhythmic aching of his cock, begging to be touched by another. Azriel just hoped that Elain would get back here and do that soon.

Eventually, a light switched on.

Azriel had to blink at the sudden brightness.

It was only the bathroom light, but still it illuminated the space enough for him to be able to see Elain, who was smiling that smile of hers that was somehow entirely innocent and completely sinful at the same time.

She came for him then. On quick feet she crossed the room, jumping into his lap, her legs on either side of his spread thighs, her hands gently pushing him back onto the bed. Obligingly, Azriel left himself fall back, taking Elain with him. Her mouth finding his again as she kissed him deeply.

Then her hands were finishing the job, opening the the last button of his shirt and pulling it free from his shoulders, exposing his chest to her.

Elain pulled back to look at his chest, the warm core of hers covered by the fabric of her underwear, settling on top of his hard cock begging to be released from his trousers.

“You are so stunning,” she whispered, gazing down on him as her fingers bit into the muscles of his stomach.

“No,” he said, sitting up to cradle her face gently in his hands, “you are the stunning one.”

“Oh hush,” she giggled, before pressing her mouth back to his.

Azriel’s hands wandered, finding the zip at the back of her dress. Slowly easing it down, as Elain rocked her pelvis along his throbbing shaft.

Becoming impatient, Azriel took control, flipping Elain onto her back so he could thrust himself into the cradle of her hips, as he kissed the skin being revealed as he pulled down her dress.

He groaned as her breasts were revealed, with their pink nipples standing stiff, ready for his attention. Dropping his head, he flicked his tongue over one, then the other, before moving back to the first. He licked, long soft strokes along either side, before swirling his tongue around the peak. Only when Elain’s hands fisted in his hair, pulling him down onto her, did he suck them deep into his mouth. Her moan of pleasure in response had him thrusting even harder against her.

There was nothing more consuming than the need to please her. To have her writhing beneath him.

Easing her dress over her hips, he kissed a trail from one breast to the other, lingering for a moment, before he continued down her stomach and to a tattoo that poked above the waist band of her underwear.

As he pulled them down her legs, he couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled from him. The tattoo was of flowers, positioned so that they looked as if they had sprouted from the patch of brown public hair below.

Elain pushed herself up on to her elbows, “You know Azriel, men don’t usually laugh when they find themselves between my legs.”

Azriel schooled his features back to neutrality. “Sorry,” he said, stroking a knuckle along the tattoo, down through the strip of public hair causing Elain to squirm, “I just think it’s cute.”

“You know what else is cute?”

“What?” He whispered, gazing up at her as his knuckle stroked over her tattoo again.

Elain’s eyes heated, as she spread her legs wide for him. The soft glistening pinkness, ready for him. “This,” she said, her voice equally low.

Azriel eased himself off her, coming to kneel beside the bed, so his face was right up against what she had revealed to him. That musky, feminine scent filled his nostrils, making his cock harder impossibly further.

“Oh no Elain,” he whispered, “your pussy is the most glorious thing I have ever seen.” And with that, he buried his face in her wetness.

Elain’s hips bucked beneath him, her fingers once again tangling up in his hair, as he licked and sucked on her clit. Taking her slowing up and up, until plunging two fingers inside of her had her shattering around him.

Only when the last of the tremors had eased, and her body had gone limp to Azriel rise to his feet, and finally, release himself from his jeans.

Elain let out a small gasp.

He looked down to find those doe brown eyes of hers focused on his arousal. Her face glowing in peaceful satisfaction that only came after an orgasm.

“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered, reaching for him.

He moaned as her hand closed around his shaft, stroking him agonisingly gently.

“Do you think you could handle it?” He asked her, reaching down to stroke her hair. Her limbs were so limp, in post organic bliss, he didn’t want to ruin her relaxation by demanding her body tighten and build towards climax once again.

“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered, and Azriel nearly came in her hand.

Gently, he pushed her hand away and set about finding a condom. “Are you sure?” He asked again.

When she nodded, smiling up at him, he positioned himself between her legs.

As the blunt, weeping, head of his cock rubbed up and down her slickness she whispered again, words that took Azriel right up to the edge. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

So he did.


	4. The Second Wedding: Pt1

The second wedding of the summer was a little different for Rhysand.

Instead of being seated at the singles tables, today he was sitting at the top table, right beside the groom, as his best man.

In many ways, sitting at the top table and at the singles table were similar experiences. Namely, the wedding guests paid particularly close attention to who was seated at each table. The main different however, and one that Rhysand was enjoying, was how the guests’ eyes shone with joy as they looked upon the happy couple and their wedding party, not with the pity, or occasional lusty glance that got thrown towards those at the singles table.

For once no one cared if he had brought a date. In fact, most would have viewed it as crueler if he had. For she would have been relegated to the singles table, while he sat at the bride and groom.

Another benefit of the top table, which Rhys was enjoying, was that it was set on a slight platform. Sitting higher than everyone else in the room gave him a great view of what was going on.

He spotted his brothers in their usual places at the singles table.

Cassian was glaring at the woman sitting opposite him as he cut so aggressively into his steak, that even from across the room, Rhys wasn’t sure how his brother didn’t saw straight through the plate underneath. The recipient of Cassian’s glare appeared oblivious as she chatted casually with the woman sitting next to her.

Azriel, beside him, had the most peculiar look on his face. Rhys followed his friend’s gaze across the room to dark-skinned, red-haired man who was laughing with a woman dressed in pink seated beside him.

The man looked vaguely familiar but Rhys couldn’t place him.

He hadn’t spotted Ianthe at the singles table, or anywhere else at the wedding, and Rhys thanked his lucky stars she didn’t appear to have any connection to the happy couple of today.

His friends were still on honeymoon, but he would be sure to bring up what had happened with them when they got back. If even just to check that she was okay after she had hit her head, as he had heard nothing further that night.

He continued scanning to room as he ate, the groom busy talking to his bride beside him.

Plenty of his friends were in attendance, many of them sitting together, chatting and laughing as they ate. Rhys looked forward to catching up with them later.

Moving on, his eyes finally settled on the person he had been trying not to stare at since he had sat down.

The person who’s eye he had been determined not to meet as she watched him deliver his speech earlier.

For some reason, talking about love and happiness seemed a little too personal, too vulnerable, to be delivered while looking into those electric blue eyes of hers.

Now though, he could watch her freely as she wasn’t looking at him, or the top table at all. No, her head was turned, whispering fervently to the blond man sitting beside her.

He was her boyfriend. A fact he had learnt at the last wedding.

But the fact that his name was Tamlin and he worked in construction, was something that he had learnt from stalking them on social media in the days that followed.

Rhys hadn’t intended to, but he couldn’t get Feyre out of his head. He needed to know more about her. Craved it.

She came to him in his dreams, her pretty face smiling gently at him, and when he woke up she was the first thing he thought of. What was she doing at that very moment? Was she okay? Instagram gave him some comfort. Not that she posted much, a story of her coffee. A picture of some colourful graffiti, but it was enough for him to feel some sort of connection to her.

What he didn’t like however was when he was sitting at his desk in work trying to focus on whatever was in front of him and his brain started playing in a loop their interaction that night. How she had offered him a cigarette and they had chatted a bit, only for him to ask her for a dance and for her to tell him that she had a boyfriend.

Over and over his brain played that rejection.

He couldn’t stop it.

No matter how many times he had told himself that she wasn’t interested, that she was with someone.

He just couldn’t let it go.

As the dinner ended, Rhys watched as Tamlin took Feyre by the hand and headed, not for the bar or the dance floor like the other guests, but outside.

So he decided to follow.

—————

She was sitting at the singles table.

Nesta.

His queen.

She was at the singles table.

There was no sign of the rat faced man who had accompanied her to the previous wedding.

She was alone.

Available.

Cassian ached.

He had tried every which way to catch her attention at dinner, save from shouting across the table at her, but only because that seemed like a rude thing to do. Yet she had ignored him. Ignored him so deliberately that she never once spared so much as a glance his way.

The one time she looked up, Cassian’s heart almost stopped in his chest at the thought that she might have been looking at him. Instead, she looked right through him, towards the top table, where Rhys had just climbed to his feet to begin delivering his best man’s speech.

Cassian had had to turn around in order to be able to see. The whole time, he was sure he could feel Nesta’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, but when he turned back her focus was elsewhere entirely.

When the torturous dinner finally ended, Nesta was the first on her feet heading for the bar.

And Cassian found himself trailing behind her, like a silly puppy looking for approval from its alpha.

 _Gods if she could just acknowledge him. Look at him. Maybe give him a scratch behind his ears. Or stroke his_ —.

Cassian cut the train of thought off as he squeezed himself into the space beside him at the bar.

“What are you drinking, sweetheart?”

—————

Nesta glanced up at the hulking brute of a man who had squeezed himself right up next to her at the bar, and rolled her eyes.

She knew he was going to find a way to talk to her, he had been watching her all through dinner, she had just hoped that she had the chance to drink something stronger than the watered down wine they served at dinner first.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“To buy you a drink.”

“Given up on trying to make me buy you one?”

He smiled. The grin lit up his whole face. Something inside Nesta’s chest squeezed. “I have had some time to reflect on that approach, and have decided that it maybe was not the most effective.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Hard to believe huh?”

Nesta just shook her head.

He nudged her shoulder.“So, what’s your drink?”

She frowned, her body lit up like a sparkler every time he touched her and she didn’t like it.“Whiskey soda.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course it is.”

“What?”

“Of course your drink is whiskey soda.”

She turned back to the bar. “I don’t get it?”

His arm snaked around her shoulders pulling her against him a little as he too, turned to face the bar. It was all Nesta could do not to lean into the solid warmth of him. “I drink whiskey sodas and you’re my dream girl so it makes sense that we would drink the same drink.”

 _Dream girl_.

Gods he couldn’t say stuff like that.

Not when it unfurled something hot in Nesta’s stomach.

Snap. Just like that Nesta’s guard came back up. Her expression shut down, as her back went ramrod straight. She stepped out from underneath Cassian’s arm and away from the bar. Away from the warm safety of him.

“Suddenly, I no longer want a drink,” she snapped making to storm off, but he followed.

“Do you want to dance then?”

“No.”

“Come on.”

She whirled on him, her palm coming up to smack him right in the centre of his chest to hold him away from her. As if she was match for his strength. “Leave me alone.”

Cassian’s face went from shocked to tender in the blink of an eye, as his hand came up to take her own. To press it tightly against his chest.

She looked up at him.

 _Bad idea._

Nesta found herself caught. Entrapped by his handsome face, those blazing hazel eyes. Messy hair, that she had watched stylists agonise over for hour, he seemed to achieve effortlessly. Nesta couldn’t stop her mind straying to the thought of sex. Of how he must look, all mushed and satisfied, after rolling around in the sheets.

Heat flared through her as she focused on the feel under her hand. The heat from his broad chest, muscle harder that she had ever felt before.

Gods he must look spectacular.

Cassian’s thumb stroked the back of her hand gently, pulling her back into the moment. “Just one dance Nesta,” he whispered.

—————

“Hello stranger.”

Azriel’s body went rigid, his traitorous heart slamming into a gallop against his rib cage at the sound of that voice.

He would recognise that voice anywhere. Even after all this time. Even after how hard he had tried to forget it.

Azriel closed his eyes for a beat, steady himself, before he turned around.

Azriel’s breath was taken from him at the sight. Lucien was handsome as ever, perhaps even more so. His red hair was long and shiny, Azriel was possessed with the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it. To run his fingers through it, the way he had when it was short and they had been young.

The years truly had been kind to him, the lines on his face turning his beauty from prettiness to ruggedness, while his body had become broad and strong. He was simply divine.

It took Azriel a moment before he could finally meet those russet eyes, sparkling as Lucien watched Azriel ogle his body.

“Hello Lucien,” Azriel finally managed to bring himself to say.

“You’re looking well.”

“And you.”

Lucien smiled. “I know.”

Azriel chuckled. “Still as cocky as ever.”

“You would know.”

 _He would_.

Azriel felt his cheeks heat. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure.”

As Azriel ordered for them, Lucien came to stand beside him, purposefully close. His arm rested against Azriel’s, sending a shiver through his body that Azriel had to work hard to suppress.

Gods, how many nights had he laid awake touching himself to the memories of Lucien, he wondered. Too many. And now the man stood next to him, after all these years. It was almost too much for him to take.

“How have you been?” Lucien asked him, as the bar tender set their drinks in front of them.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Working as an engineer?”

“Yeah. Aerospace.”

“You always were the smart one of us.”

Azriel took a sip of his drink to hide his discomfort. He didn’t know what to say to that. Especially when Lucien had always been the smart one of them. Sure, the last time he had seen him he had been in the midst of applying for Phd programs.

But to bat away the compliment, to insist that Lucien was the smart one, it brought them back into a territory Azriel wasn’t sure he was comfortable with.

A memory came swimming back to him, one that he hadn’t thought about in years, of how they would fight, argue over which of them was smarter, as they sat studying for exams at the table in their cramped kitchen. The agreement would never resolve itself, ending instead with them racing to the bedroom, ripping off each other’s clothes.

Looking at him now, Azriel could remember how Lucien’s body felt moving under him.

His cock had lengthened, and was pressing painfully against his trousers, but Azriel didn’t dare adjust himself for fear of drawing Lucien’s attention. Didn’t dare glance at Lucien to see whether he was having a similar reaction.

The air between them was charged with tension. Of things that went unsaid between them.

Azriel had to break it. “And how have you been?” He asked.

Lucien nodded. “Good yeah. I have tenure at the University of Velaris.”

“So you finally became a professor”

“I did. Economics.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

There was another pause while both men took a drink.

“I got married,” Lucien finally blurted.

Cold dread slicked through Azriel. Of course Lucien got married. An incredible guy like him would never be single for too long. It was just a matter of time before someone was smart enough to realise that.

“Yeah, I heard you guys could do that now,” he said.

“Az,” Lucien’s voice was low, warning.

He needed to get away from Lucien, from the power he still held over him.

“Congratulations,” Azriel croaked, before draining his glass of whiskey. It burned on the way down, but he needed to feel pain.

“I see somethings never change,” Lucien said quietly.

“What does that mean?” Azriel asked, slamming his glass down on the bar, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You still hate yourself for what you are.”

“I’m not anything!”

“Az—.”

“Everything okay, honey?” A sweet female voice asked.

It was only then that Azriel realised how close he had got to Lucien, right up in his face, their chests almost touching.

He took a giant step backwards.

As he glanced down at the woman who had interrupted them, Azriel’s blood ran cold.

Especially as Lucien put his arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

“Azriel, allow me to introduce me to my wife Elain.”


	5. The Second Wedding: Pt2

One dance.

That had been all that Nesta had agreed to.

And yet, somehow she found herself still on the dance floor, twirling in Cassian’s arms. How many songs had it been now? She’d lost count. If she was being completely honest, she didn’t care.

As soon as the band had started playing and the music had begun to flow over her, Nesta had been lost in the rhythm, the beat, the melody, had forgot all about her objections. She had simply become immersed in the music, in the feel of being spun around the dance floor, Cassian’s big, warm, safe - dare she even acknowledge sexy - body beside her with every step.

All she knew was that she hadn’t felt like this, this light, this free, in a very long time.

She never wanted the moment to end, and so she kept dancing, and Cassian, thankfully, kept dancing with her.

Nesta supposed, if she really was a stickler for her pride, she could claim that they had only danced one dance. For, from the moment they had stepped onto the dance floor, from the moment that Cassian had put his hands on her, they had not stopped dancing. It was still just one dance. A very long dance. But just one.

Suddenly, the music slowed.

Without missing a beat, and perhaps for fear that this would be the moment in which she would finally come to her senses and scamper, Cassian stepped closer. His big hands came to rest softly on her waist. Suggestive, hopeful, but in no way demanding.

In response Nesta moved closer into him. Stretching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing their torsos flush against each other.

Cassian looked down at her, those hazel eyes heating as he gave her that lazy grin of his. A grin Nesta was sure had successfully caused many women to drop their underwear in the past. For it was a grin that heated even her blood.

Nesta couldn’t deny that Cassian was a handsome man. Stunningly beautiful in a rugged sort of way. His tall, broad, hard, body was always going to win him admirers, but it has his face, those smug, arrogant, completely male expressions, that stirred something in Nesta. She just wasn’t sure if she wanted to smash his face in with her fists, or sit on it with her cunt.

It was the latter she realised, as her toes curled in her shoes at the thought of what Cassian’s mouth would feel like against her. How his rough hands would feel against her sensitive skin.

It was a train of thought that she quickly cut off as she gazed up at his face, at his hazel eyes that watched her with such adoration that it shattered something in her chest.

—————

When Rhys had followed Feyre and her boyfriend, Tamlin, outside, after the meal had concluded, he had been hoping that they were going for a smoke.

He had envisaged the whole scene.

He was going to sidle up to them. Maybe offer Feyre a cigarette, one from the new packet he had bought today especially, to replace the one he had taken from her a few weeks ago. Or maybe he was going to ask Tamlin to light his cigarette. Or maybe even offer his own lighter to them.

He hadn’t quite decided on his exact move, he was a go with the flow guy like that, but he knew that he was going to find a way to strike up conversation with them. To learn all about them. Things he already knew from having stalked their social media accounts over the past few week. He needed them to be able attribute his knowledge to a conversation they had should he ever accidentally slip up and mentioned something that he had learnt having stalked them.

He had hoped to hear a story or two, about their life together, how they met. The basic kind of stuff that you learnt about people while standing in a smoking area.

At least that was how Rhys had planned things would go.

What he did not expect, when he followed them, was to watch, obscured by one of the columns that ran around the exterior of the wedding venue, as Tamlin pressed Feyre up against the side of the pebbledash wall, hiked up her dress to her waist, and thrust into her over and over and over.

Rhys had frozen when he had realised what he was watching. The cigarette he held dangling loosely from his parted mouth.

His blood had begun racing then, his heart pounding in his chest as his knees buckled, holding onto the column the only thing keeping him standing.

He didn’t know whether he needed to intervene, to pull Tamlin off her, or whether this was something that Feyre wanted, had consented to.

And then Feyre’s hands had racked down Tamlin’s back, grabbing his shirt in her fists holding him tighter to her as he thrust relentlessly.

Rhys had never seen anything so raw, so depraved. He just couldn’t look away.

But it was when Tamlin shifted, revealing to Rhys the image of Feyre pressed up against the wall, her dress pooling at her waist, her breasts exposed, her head thrown back in ecstasy, that Rhys felt his own shaft grow hard.

She was stunning.

A thing of true beauty.

He wondered how her skin must feel. How her body would move under his. How her face, those amazing blue eyes, would gaze up at him as he was the one who thrust deep inside her.

He knew then that he had to find out.

Knew what he had been denying in those weeks that he had been stalking her on social media.

He was a goner. His heart, as if the cosmos had orchestrated it, belonged to Feyre.

All of a sudden, Tamlin roared, throwing his head back, his long blond hair spilling down his back, as he emptied himself into Feyre.

His Feyre.

A long dormant part of Rhys awoke in that moment. Something dark and male. Something possessive.

He would have her.

Rhys took a long drag of his cigarette to steady himself, nausea rolling through him as he watched Tamlin slip from Feyre and zip his trousers closed. He didn’t so much as offer to help Feyre clean herself up, as she stood, exposed in the night - with everything on show save for a her dress around her middle - before he had strode off to rejoin the wedding party.

His heart ached as he watched her. His beautiful Feyre, abandoned by the man who was supposed to love her, to protect her.

Feyre was standing motionless, continuing stare after Tamlin, where he had disappeared back into the party, when Rhys stepped from the shadows behind the pillar.

His movements snapping her from her daze. “Oh my Gods,” she gasped, folding herself in half in an attempt to hid her bare cunt. One hand coming to cover her full breasts, while the other tried to pull down the hem of her dress. “What are you doing here?”

Rhys kept his eyes on the ground, as he stepped towards her, holding out his pocket square to clean herself; Tamlin’s ejaculate dripped down the inside of her thighs.

She hesitated for a moment before taking the fabric square from him. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

Rhys nodded but didn’t say anything, turning sideways to give Feyre some privacy as she tidied herself up.

He smoked one cigarette, and then another, while he waited, trying not to watch out of the corner of his eye as Feyre bent over, her bare bottom presented to him as she cleaned the mess between her legs.

_Disgusting._

_Dirty._

_Shameful_.

The words echoed through his head.

Words that had been hissed at him that very first time he had erupted. Words that he would forever associate with his own release. No matter how much therapy he had.

It was why he would only ever do it in the shower. With the lights off. Unable to watch. Gripping himself until the point of pain.

He had never spilled himself inside a woman. Didn’t think he would ever be able to even if he wanted to. Not when there was a risk, no matter how small, that he might end up impregnatingher.

He couldn’t do that. He was never going to have children. Never.

Not when his own childhood had been so fucked up. No child ever deserved that. And he knew, better than anyone, that parents couldn’t protect their kids from everything. Especially not that.

Finally he heard the zip on Feyre’s dress close and he glanced to see her full clothed and righted again. She looked like a Goddess, in her purple floral dress, standing in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He croaked, his voice hoarse with an emotion he didn’t realise had been building inside of him.

Feyre looked up, a dark pink blush stained her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, and glanced towards the party. The revellers in full swing. No sign of Tamlin.

Before Rhys knew what he was doing, he had closed the space in between them. His arm closing around her waist, as he hoisted Feyre up, over his shoulder.

Then he was running.

—————

Azriel couldn’t breathe.

 _Allow me to introduce you to my wife Elain_.

_Elain?_

_Elain!_

It was then that he had taken off at a sprint. Crossing the dance floor, and heading out into the wedding venue gardens. He ran and ran until he reached the very end of the property.

That was were he now stood, leaning on a wall looking out over the lake that surrounded the property the wedding venue had been built on.

He was sure that it was beautiful, but Azriel couldn’t see what was before his eyes.

For all he could see was the way that Lucien had put his arm casually around Elain’s waist and pulled her to him.

 _Allow me to introduce you to my wife Elain_.

Wife.

Gods, as if it wasn’t bad enough that he had ran into Lucien, at this wedding, that his long lost love was married, and not just married to anyone, but the woman that Azriel had hooked up with at another wedding only a few short weeks ago. 

His breath was coming faster now. He was sucking in great lungfuls of air at such a rate that if he didn’t get a handle on himself, and quickly, he was going to pass out.

 _Oh Gods_.

_He had had an affair with his ex-lover’s new wife._

_Oh Gods_.

Dropping his hands to his things, Azriel bent over. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head and focused on his breath.

“In and out. In and out,” he muttered to himself, trying to calm himself.

He was so focused on his breath, he didn’t hear the crunch of gravel behind him.

Not until he heard that dark chuckle, the one the skittered down his spine and set ablaze every nerve in his body.

“Reminding yourself how to do it?” Lucien purred from behind him, “Breathe that is.”

Breathing was absolutely not what Lucien meant, and they both knew it. Azriel’s body responded to the purr of his old lover. Gods, Lucien had been insatiable back then; when he was young and his body had been long and scrawny. Now he was a man, broad and strong, Azriel could only imagine his stamina had grown with him.

“Please,” Azriel whispered as he pulled himself out of his crouched position, and came to lean on the wall at the end of the garden, keeping his back to Lucien.

It was the only protection he had. Not to look his old lover in the face. Not to let Lucien see his face, what it betrayed, either.

Another chuckle from Lucien, as Azriel felt rather than saw, the man move to stand beside him. “That was always my line.”

Azriel’s head dropped to his chest. He couldn’t cope with this. Handle the temptation of Lucien beside him. His body so familiar yet new. They were standing so close that he could reach out and touch him. Grab him and crush him up against his chest. His hand would tangle in Lucien’s beautiful hair as he forced his head back, and then their mouths would crash together and that would be it. Azriel would be unable to resist. He’s bend Lucien over the wall and take him the way he used to when they were in college. When they were young and in love, and Azriel was very, very stupid.

Heat flooded through Azriel.

Arousal and anger.

But it was the latter that was more potent.

The latter that made him say the thing that he knew would hurt Lucien.

Because he needed to hurt Lucien.

He had discovered early on in their relationship that hurting Lucien was the thing that caused Azriel more pain that anything he had ever experienced, and in this moment he was so full of guilt, of regret, that he needed to hurt. He needed to bleed. Maybe, if he was lucky, Lucien might even hit him. Straight across the face and break his nose. It was the least he deserved. So he spat the words at his old lover, his old love, his breathing still rasping as his heart pounded in his chest.

“I fucked your wife.”

Lucien, who hadn’t been moving, somehow froze. His own breath caught. “Elain?”

“Do you have another wife?” Azriel growled.

“No.”

“Well then.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago, at another wedding.”

Lucien chuckled again.

The anger bubbling in Azriel bordered on rage. How could he fucking laugh? Act like it was no big deal that Azriel fucked his wife.

If he didn’t turn around and hit him soon, Azriel was liable to take a swing at Lucien. At his smug face. At his laugh. He’d knock him to the ground, and then he’d get down on top of him—

Azriel cut the train of thought short. His cock was already aching. He could feel the throbbing head weeping in his undershorts.

“She told me she was with someone,” Azriel saw out of the corner of his eye Lucien shrug as he said, “I just assumed it was Graysen.”

Azriel’s eyebrows flattened as his head snapped towards Lucien. “You know about Graysen?”

“Of course. He’s her boyfriend.”

Azriel opened his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly shut it. He had no idea what to say to that. What could he say.

Lucien’s smug face became even more insufferable. “Elain and I have an open marriage, Az. We both recognise that there are things that I can never give her.” His fingers gently brushed against the hand Azriel had rested on the wall in front of him.

Hot sparks flew through Azriel’s body in response to that touch. That old reaction had never gone away. Not in all those years.

“Just like there are things that she will never be able to give me.”

—————

Cassian was captivated.

Lost in the stormy grey eyes of the beautiful girl who was looking up at him with wariness.

Wariness like a wild animal, Cassian thought, she was at risk of bolting at any moment.

It had been a total surprise to him when Nesta had agreed to dance with him. Even more of a surprise when they had kept dancing after that first song. And the song after that. And the song after that.

But Cassian wasn’t going to question it.

Not when he had his arms wrapped around her. Their bodies pressing against each other as they swayed to the slow song the band played.

He just held her grey stare, utterly transfixed.

Caught her her spell, Cassian slipped one hand from her waist, moving it to cup her face. Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in slightly to his palm.

It was all the invitation he needed to lower his head, his own eyes closing as he brushed his lips gently against hers.

But the barest of contact had Nesta’s head jerking back. Her face livid, those grey eyes stormy as she snarled at him.

“I have a boyfriend."

—————

He had stolen her away in the night.

Just grabbed her and ran to the car park, where he had unlocked a large SUV and dumped her body into the passenger seat.

Feyre supposed she should have been grateful that he didn’t put her body in the trunk.

Shock paralysed her. Most people believed that reactions to shock were fight or flight, and that was true, but they always forgot the third option, fight, flight, or freeze.

And Feyre was frozen. Holding on desperately to the seat as the car barrelled down the winding country roads at such great speeds.

She didn’t understand what had happened, but as she watched the road fly towards her, her brain slowly began to whirl into action, recalling how she had ended up here.

Rhysand, the handsome, sad, stranger she had met at the wedding a few weeks ago had stepped from the shadows, clearly having seen, maybe even watched, as her and Tamlin had sex up against the wedding venue wall. He had offered her his handkerchief to clean herself up with, something she had been grateful for, if nightly embarrassed, and when she had finished he had just snatched her.

Taken her.

But why?

Feyre slowly gained enough control over her body to turn her head to look at Rhysand. At the way his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. At the way his face was inches from the windscreen as he focused intently at the road ahead of him.

She wasn’t sure if he was aware of the tears that ran down his face in a steady stream, at what had promoted them.

Why had he taken her?

Where was he taking her.

_Oh Gods._

She was never going to see her family, her sisters, ever again. Never see Tamlin again. What was he going to say when they pulled her body, dead from a ditch? Tamlin would probably be so mad that he’d kill her all over again.

 _Oh Gods_.

She needed to stop this. To save herself. To save Rhysand.

 _Rhysand_.

“Rhysand,” her voice cracking on the word made Feyre aware of the tears streaming down her own face. At the snot running from her nose to her lip as she sobbed silently; so afraid.

She sniffed.

“Rhysand,” she said again, but there was still no reaction from her captor. He just continued to stare at the road ahead of them.

Another small thing Feyre was grateful for, his focus, as the speeds they were travelling on these old country roads were too fast, dangerous. She needed him to keep them on the road. It was the only way she’d ever see her family again.

“Rhysand” she said, louder this time.

Still nothing.

“RHYSAND!” Her shout startled even her, but it was enough to snap Rhys from his daze. His foot came off the accelerator and the car slowed, as he turned to look at her.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice cracking again as her body was wracked with a sob. Fear and adrenaline coursing through her now. “Please take me back.”

There was a long moment where those violent eyes stared at her, fresh tears staining his face, but they were clearer now, as if he could finally see her.

See what he had done.

With a resigned nod, Rhysand turned the car around.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the following chapters onwards have been written post the release of A Court of Silver Flames (ACOSF) and may contain very mild spoilers as to some of the themes/content in that book. Please DO NOT continue with this fic if you do not want ACOSF spoilers.

“Ooooh, she’s pretty,” Mor whispered to Azriel as they filtered into the dinning room, of what was the third wedding Azriel had attended this summer.

Unlike the other weddings, Azriel had actually been looking forward to this one. The groom was a colleague, and close friend, who was finally marrying is college sweetheart. Indeed, he had even been enjoying himself. That was, until he caught sight of _them_ as arriving at the reception venue.

He knew Mor had felt him still. Had read his usually guarded expression, and had known. Her eyes had followed his through the crowd until she spotted that familiar red hair, and his extremely pretty plus one.

He scowled at Mor as she nudged him, “Lucien is looking well too.”

Azriel couldn’t disagree. The male had always been handsome, but now…grown into himself…he was specular. As he had been at the last wedding, today, Lucien was impeccably dressed. His suit, a dark navy blue this time, had clearly been tailored to accentuate his tall, strong body and brought out his autumn colouring.

That old balloon of warmth and longing inflated in Azriel’s chest as he looked at his old lover. One needed to deflate.

“Come on, lets get a drink,” he said to Mor, turning from where Elain and Lucien stood, chatting with another couple, and headed for the bar. A whiskey, that was just what he needed.

Mor nodded once before following diligently behind him.

He was grateful that she was here, that she had agreed to be his plus one for this wedding, even if she had agreed months ago when the invitation had first arrived. This morning that gratitude had been for merely the company she provided; that he didn’t have to sit at the singles table for once. Now though, he was thankful that he had a buffer between himself and the Vanserra couple.

But as he reached the bar, he turned to find Mor looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a slight smile on her lips.

The expression immediately set Azriel’s teeth on edge.

“I think we’re all sitting at the same table,” she said, that grin getting bigger.

Azriel stifled a groan, that was all he needed.

——————

“He’s by the bar,” Elain whispered to Lucien as mingled amongst the crowd of wedding guests.

Her eyes had sought out, and found, the beautiful male as soon as she had entered the reception room. How could they not. Azriel was absolutely stunning. His handsome, brooding, unexpressive face. His tall, lean body, the epitome of masculine strength. His charcoal suit creating a striking image against his tanned-brown skin and dark features.

He truly was not of this world.

There was something about the way he moved through a space.

The opposite of a pebble causing ripples on a calm lake; the space around him seemed to take a moment’s pause, expectantly, as he moved through it strong and steady.

Everything about Azriel drew Elain in, as it had that night at the first wedding all those weeks ago. It was so easy to see how he had been her husband’s first love. How Lucien had fallen hard for the elegant, complicated male.

Why, in their most private moments, Lucien whispered to her that he still pined for Azriel.

For his body. For his love.

Indeed, at her words Lucien’s head snapped up, scanning the room before settled on Azriel’s back as he stood at the bar. Old longing filled his eyes.

“He’s with a blonde,” she said.

“Male?” Lucien asked, his eyes narrowing.

“No.”

Lucien gaze tore from Azriel to scan the bar. Finding the blonde in the slinky red dress standing beside him, relief flooded his expression.

“Now that is someone I haven’t seen in a very long time,” a knowing smile spread across his face. “He’s with Mor.”

_Mor?_

It took only a second for the name to register; for Elain to remember where she had heard it before.

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, Lucien huffing a laugh at the expression on her face.

She had heard a lot about Mor in the years she had been with Lucien, but had never met her. Had never seen a picture of her. Lucien didn’t have any, and she certainly was going to ask Eris for one.

Besides, it was likely Lucien’s eldest brother had burned any memory of her, as he had a proclivity to do with things that no longer served him. He liked watching the flames dancing, he had told her once, burning everything that touched them, clearing a path for regeneration. It was a truth, as a gardener, she understood all to well - destruction and growth were two sides of the same coin, both beautiful in their own way.

Eris had apparently been heartbroken when, a month before their wedding, Mor had left him, for her pilates instructor…her _female_ pilates instructor.

Eris always claimed there was more to the story than that, but swore that the real truth was for Morrigan, and her alone, to share.

Elain had always like Eris. His fiery exterior might give the impression that he was an asshole, but it was all a front to hide his soft centre.

He’d always been good to Elain, and to her family.

Especially Nesta.

She was here tonight Elain noted, even if she had that dreadful boyfriend in tow. If Elain was right, this was the third wedding that her sister had attended this summer. It was good to see her, even if they didn’t really talk anymore.

Elain, became suddenly aware of the tension rolling of Lucien, snapping from her thoughts about her sister.

“Are Mor and Azriel…?” She asked her husband, desperately hoping they weren’t. For all of their sakes.

“No,” Lucien shook her head, “I would doubt that very much.”

“She likes men though?” Elain asked, unsure.

Lucien made a so-so motion with his hand. “Sexually maybe, but romantically I always understood that she was only into women.”

Elain nodded. “Poor Eris.”

Looked down at her and smiled. “Don’t feel too sorry for my brother, he’s cunning, there is more to that story than even I know.”

Elain made a mental note to ask Lucien later just how much exactly he knew. “And Azriel?”

Lucien’s face tightened. She knew it was a touchy subject for him - sure, they had spoken about it for many long hours - Azriel’s sexual and romantic orientation.

She knew there was a lot unresolved between the two of them. Knew, that Lucien still wondered why, during all those years they had spent together, the beautiful, scarred, male had never been open about their relationship, about himself.

Azriel’s worst scars, Elain realised, were not the ones that marred his body, but the ones that covered his heart, his soul. That kept him trapped from revealing his true self.

“Azriel has a lot to resolve on his own, before he could ever date someone,” Lucien said, pain lacing his words, but Elain knew that it was the words he didn’t dare utter that caused her husband the worst hurt.

_Before he could ever date me._

_Before he could ever date us._

——————

Tamlin put the car in park outside the wedding reception venue and turned to smile at Feyre. “You look beautiful today,” he said, reaching to take her hand from where it rested in her lap and hold it in his own, his thumb drifting across the back of her palm.

“Thank you,” she whispered, a smile gracing her own face.

Feyre knew she looked pretty, in the gown of palest blue, beading intricately stitched across the bodice that shimmered in the light. She had managed to find it in a thrift shop, and not only had it fit perfectly, it had cost almost nothing; she knew then that it had to be hers.

The dress also appeared to be working for Tamlin. Heating his blood.

“Stay there,” he said, before climbing out of the car, rounding the front, and coming to open her door.

He didn’t extend his hand to help her climb out of the car, but instead leaned down to press a kiss to her mouth.

The kiss, as it always did with Tamlin, scorched through her, setting her body tingling, coming alive as it knew what to expect next. It was because of this, of the way Feyre’s heart began to jump in her chest, that she didn’t object when Tamlin’s hands found the lever to her chair.

“Lay back,” he said, his voice dropping to that low growly octave, had her clenching her thighs together.

Tamlin noticed, his smile became one of male satisfaction, as his eyes grew glossy.

In one swift movement, he slid her chair backwards to give himself space to perch in the footwell, before leaning the backrest back until Feyre was flat on her back, hidden from view beneath the window level of the car.

Feyre couldn’t held the smile that spread across her own face, he toes curling in anticipation.

It was a rare day Tamlin did this for her, and she was going to enjoy every minute.

It didn’t matter that they were in semi-public. That anyone could walk through the carpark at any moment. No, Tamlin loved having sex in public places. For unsuspecting people to happen across them, to note the way he thrust deeply into her, claiming her in front of anyone and everyone. Feyre had grown accustomed to be taken this way. It didn’t excite her the way it did Tamlin, but she enjoyed the physicality of it, being close to him, their bodies sung when they were together this way.

Tamlin settled himself, an awkward position in the footwell, half-in half-out of the car, but his gaze had become so focused on the way her dress’s floaty material had rode up her leg, showing a vast expanse of thigh, that he didn’t seem to notice.

Without another word, Tamlin smoothed his calloused palms up the inside of her thighs, spreading them. Her leg closest to the centre console hooked over his shoulder, while the other fell loosely open, dangling out of the car slightly. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but all Feyre could focus on was the throbbing emptiness between her legs…and the ravishing tongue that was to come.

She squirmed in her seat as Tamlin’s hands were replaced by his mouth, he nipped, sucked, and kissed his way from her knee up towards the warm wetness pooling between her legs. She rocked her pelvis, desperate to be touched where she ached, but with a dark chuckle against her thigh, Tamlin merely brought his strong hands up to hold her hips steady as he continued his torture, kissing up her other leg, winding her tighter and tighter.

When, a few moments later, he removed one hand from her hip to pull her lacy underwear to one side, exposing her, Feyre thought she was going to explode.

As the cool air from outside washed over her exposed cunt, she could’t suppress her gasp.

Tamlin chucked, his breath close enough to tickle her.

“Please,” she begged, “Touch me.”

Tamlin, for once in his life, obliged her request.

A moan escaped from her, as Tamlin leaned down and pressed his face against her sloppy cunt.

Feyre’s hands fisted in his long golden hair, expletives bursting from her as his tongue found her wetness, gliding up though her folds to circle on her throbbing, neglected clit.

Then his lips were there, sucking that delicate bud into his mouth, as his tongue continued to circle. The pleasure was so intense, Feyre couldn’t help her body going rigid. Her hands tightening on his hair as she ground her cunt against his face.

It felt so dirty, to be exposed like, but it was just so, fucking good.

But as her eyes fluttered closed, her face scrunching as she teetered right on the edge of her release, all Feyre saw were those panicked purple eyes of the handsome man who had stole her away in the night. To protect her from this.

——————

“Has no one ever told you that it’s rude to stare?”

“Hello cousin.”

“Hello Rhysand.”

Rhys was pulled from his thoughts by Mor, who had sidled up to him, as he stared across the room at Feyre. She was beautiful today, perhaps even more beautiful than he had ever seen her, in her pale frosted dress that sparkled under the lights of the dinning room.

“You’re not drinking?” Mor asked, gesturing to the glass he held loosely in his hand. The colour of the drink was clear, not his usual whiskey, but trust his cousin to realise that it wasn’t vodka.

“No,” Rhys hedged. The word was short, but not delivered sharply, rather on an exhausted sigh, for Rhys was exhausted.

Mor’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

He shrugged, sliding one hand into his trouser pocket in an attempt to establish his usual nonchalance.

His cousin didn’t buy it. “Why aren’t you drinking, Rhys?”

Rhys sighed again, there was no avoiding Mor. If his cousin wanted an answer to something she was a dog with a bone until she discovered the truth. It was like she had some sort of gift, to be able to see through lies, to reveal truths often you were unaware of, even yourself.

“They upped my medication, so it’s best I don’t drink during the adjustment period,” he said cautiously.

Mor’s face grew serious, the playful spark winking out in her eye only to be replaced by concern. “Why did they up your medication?”

Rhys shook his head, he really didn’t want to discuss this. Especially not here. “I may have had a small episode—.” He held his hands out in a placating manner as Mor went to interject, her brown eyes wide.“It was nothing serious, I came to my senses, it’s all been sorted now, I’m okay…everyone is okay.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the thoughts that pressed up against him, like a cat against his leg seeking attention. He was allergic to cats. Just as he was to the memories of that night. He grew itchy, remembering the buzzing that had fill his ears, how slick fear had seized him, how he had grabbed Feyre and was in his car, driving, before he had even realised it. Driving with no where to go, not plan in his mind. All he could think about was how he thought he was saying her, protecting her in a way that no one had ever been there to protect him.

He exhaled through his nose, pushing the thoughts of his childhood, and of Feyre, away.

Blinking, he opened his eyes to find Mor studying him closely.

“What did you do?” She whispered.

He just shook his head slowly. “I thought I playing knight in shining armour—.”

Now, it was Mor who sighed. “Rhysand—.”

“But the lady wasn’t in need of saving.”

“They rarely are.”

He glanced down at her serious face, Mor had been through her own battles, had come out the other side all on her own. He bumped his arm against her shoulder, “I know.”

She smiled softly at him, before wrapping one arm around his bicep and leaned her head against his shoulder. They stood there for a long moment, just watching the wedding guests flit past.

“She’s nice Mor,” he said, breaking their calm silence.

“Yeah?”

“Somehow she managed to talk me out of it, no one has ever done that before.” He paused, taking a sip of his water. “She just seemed to know what to say, what would help.”

Mor looked up at him, her brown eyes wary, but she didn’t say anything.

“I brought her back to the wedding and she just sat with me for a while. Talking. Not talking. Just her presence helped.”

Mor’s face became one of pity. “Rhys,” she said slowly, he knew what was coming. “You know that I, more than anyone want to see you happy. To find someone and to be able to experience that part of life without any of the shadows of the past over you.”

“But?”

“But you need to be careful.”

“I will be.”

“She has a boyfriend.”

“Yes, but they’re unhappy.”

“Did she tell you that, or did you tell yourself that.”

 _Tell yourself that_. A nice way for Mor to ask if the voices in his head had lead him to believe something that he wanted so desperately to be true.

But no. The medication had taken care of that.

“She told me,” he repeated.

He could have sworn he heard his cousin roll her eyes, but she didn’t say anything further. Rhys didn’t feel like volunteering any more information about what had happened that night. About how he and Feyre had spent the rest of the night sitting in a quiet corner trading whispered truths.About how, moments before Tamlin had come to find her, Feyre had slipped him her phone number. About how, they had spent the last few weeks, since that wedding, messaging every day. For hours. Talking about everything. About nothing.

About how he knew, even in his medically altered mind, he knew he was falling in love with her.

About how she told him she felt the same way about him.

——————

“Are you going to take me for another spin tonight, sweetheart?” Cassian purred, his grin cocky, as he came up behind Nesta.

Her spine went ramrod straight in response to his voice. Her chin lifting as she whirled on him. “I don’t think so,” she said, somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite being significantly shorter.

She was a thing of beauty.

“Why no?” Cassian couldn’t help but prod, he needed a reaction, craved any attention from her, good or bad. “Worried about what might happen if I let you put your hands all over me again.”

Nesta snorted, and Cassian could have sworn her lips twitched. “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes, “the only reason I danced with you is because you have a good frame and are sufficiently quick on you feet…when you’re not panting over me like a dog, that is.”

Cassian clapped his hand to his chest in mock horror, “Steady on Nesta, it almost sounded like you complimented me there for moment.”

“Why would I—.”

Cassian was too focused on Nesta, waiting for her to bat back another barbed retort, that he didn’t notice the approach of the man who now stood beside Nesta, his arm sneaking around her waist possessively. Cassian was taken aback by the jolt of jealously that shot through him at the sight of another man’s hands on Nesta.

But this wasn’t just another man, this was her boyfriend. Tomas.

“This guy bothering you, sugar tits?” Tomas cut in, his voice high and nasal.

Cassian had to take a sip of his beer to hide his laugh. _Sugar tits._

He wasn’t going to deny admiring Nesta’s body, her considerable assets, but how could anyone look at Nesta’s devastating beauty and think an appropriate term of endearment for her was _sugar tits._

Nesta bristled. Cassian was unsure if it was from the nickname or the arm Tomas had around her, his hand biting into her hip. Even through her dress his fingers must hurt.

Cassian frowned.

“No, we were just chatting,” Nesta replied. Her usual fire had banked, her face growing hard.

Tomas’s face flushed with anger. “What have I told you about talking to other men?” He asked, the knuckles on the hand he gripped Nesta with growing white. He really must be hurting her now, and yet she didn’t flinch, didn’t try to move away from him.

“It was my fault,” Cassian said quickly. He had been around long enough to have encountered guys like Tomas before, knew that he needed to deescalate the situation. “I saw Nes standing here alone and I thought I’d say hi.”

As soon as the words were out of Cassian’s mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Nesta’s grey eyes went wide, her head shook almost imperceptibly.

“Nes?” Tomas asked.

“Eh…it’s just a nickname,” Cassian backtracked.

“And why do you have a nickname for my girlfriend?” Tomas’s hand dropped from Nesta, as he took a step towards Cassian. He was smaller, both in height and stature, but Tomas’s eyes glinted with violence.

“She hates it if that’s any consolation?”

Tomas took another step towards him. “What are you, some kind of smart guy?”

If Cassian wasn’t being squared up to, he might have laughed. “No, not at all.”

“You think you’re funny then?”

“No. Look, I—.”

“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” Tomas asked, raising his fists before his face, getting ready to fight. Cassian took a conciliatory step backwards. “A month ago, at another wedding, you were talking to her at the bar weren’t you?”

“Eh…” Cassian really didn’t know what to say. He had been, but it didn’t bode well that Tomas remembered that incident, the first time he had ever spoken to Nesta, because that really had been nothing. If that had got Tomas rilled up, he didn’t know how this situation was going to end peacefully.

“Well?” Tomas asked, his face growing ever redder, his voice raising, spit forming in the corners of his mouth. People gathered around had paused their conversations to watch this fight unfold. “Do you have designs on my girlfriend?” He roared.

Cassian glanced at Nesta, her grey eyes were pleading as they met his, and then she was running.

——————

Nesta needed to draw Tomas away from Cassian. She couldn’t allow Tomas to his him. Couldn’t allow Cassian to get hurt, not because of her.

Well, it was more likely that Cassian would knock Tomas out flat on his back before he was able to do any real damage, but Cassian wouldn’t. He was too good. Too kind. And her certainly wouldn’t want to cause a scene at a wedding.

So she had bolted. Knowing that Tomas was follow. Would chase after her for fear of his most prize possession getting away, finally escaping his clutches.

She moved as fast as her legs would carry her. But she wasn’t as fit as she used to be, and her shoes certainly weren’t helping matters.

Nesta had only made it as far as the corridor leading into the dinning room when Tomas caught up to her. His big hand closed so tightly around her bicep she yelped. “You fucking cock tease,” he seethed in her ear, spittle landing everywhere.

She struggled to keep up as he dragged her down the corridor, his hand a vice around her.

Nesta knew that this was going to be bad, but it was nothing she hadn’t been able to handle before. She was just grateful that she had managed to lure Tomas away from Cassian before either of them ended up with a black eye.

Halfway down the corridor, Tomas opened a seemingly random door and pulled Nesta into a room. It was empty.

_Fuck._

She desperately began wriggling against his grip. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tried to free herself, but Tomas held firm.

She aimed a kick for his legs, trying to hurt him.

Thomas swore. “You’re a fucking slut!”

But Nesta didn’t hear his words. No, all she heard was the sharp rip of fabric as Tomas tore her dress.


End file.
